Sermon for August 10th, 2025
Psalm 50:1-23 (OT p.519)
(Scripture reading incorporated into sermon)
Psummer of Psalms VIII - Psalm 50
Today’s sermon is about sacrifice and gratitude. I’m reminded of the story about a man who was involved in a terrible accident where his face was severely burned. The doctor told the man’s wife that they couldn’t graft any skin from his own body, so the wife offered to donate some of her own skin. However, the only skin on the wife’s body that the doctor found suitable would have to come from her posterior.
This was, of course, very awkward, but there didn’t seem to be any alternative, so the couple agreed that they would keep the source of his new skin a secret between them. The surgery was a tremendous success, and afterwards, everyone was astounded at just how well the man looked.
One day, when reflecting back on everything, the husband was overcome with emotion and gratitude for his wife’s sacrifice. He said, “My dear, I just want to thank you for what you did for me. There is no way I could ever repay you.” The wife replied, “My darling, think nothing of it. I get all the thanks I need every time I see your mother kiss you on the cheek.”
This morning we are beginning (or really, continuing) a short sermon series on the book of Psalms. Normally, I start this series in May or July, but since I was on sabbatical this summer, it’s arriving a little later—and will be a little shorter (just August).
Those of you who have been with us for a few years know that I typically start the series with the Psalm that corresponds to my current age—and earlier this summer, I turned 50, so today we’re looking at Psalm 50. If you’ve ever wanted to delve deeper into the Psalms, this is a great way to start—figure out how old you are (or want to be) and check out your own “Psalm of the year.” Spoiler alert: This approach will suddenly stop working on your 151st birthday!
In a minute, we’ll jump right into Psalm 50. But first, what are the Psalms? And why should we care about them? The Psalms are the prayer book and the song book in the heart of the Bible. The Psalms were written to comfort, to heal, and to stir up the hearts of God’s people. They’ve been read, sung, prayed, and memorized for thousands of years. John Calvin once called the Psalms “an anatomy of all the parts of the soul,” meaning that in them you can find every emotion, every situation, every cry of the human heart laid bare before God. The Psalms were also a central component of the earliest worship services in both the Jewish and Christian faiths.
Alright. Let’s jump into our text. Psalm 50, first movement (verses 1-6):
A Psalm of Asaph. 1 The mighty one, God the Lord, speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. 2 Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God shines forth. 3 Our God comes and does not keep silent; before him is a devouring fire and a mighty tempest all around him. 4 He calls to the heavens above and to the earth, that he may judge his people: 5 “Gather to me my faithful ones, who made a covenant with me by sacrifice!” 6 The heavens declare his righteousness, for God himself is judge. Selah
This first movement of the Psalm is a summons—God is summoning all of his “faithful ones,” the ones who had made a covenant with him, a pact, an agreement. In ancient Israel, that covenant, that contract, was sealed with an animal sacrifice. Today, and for many of you, that covenant, that contract was sealed when you stood up here on the chancel steps and promised in front of everyone to be a God-follower and a good church member. In verse 4, God actually calls the “heavens above” and the earth below (basically, his creation) as witness that he is the rightful (and righteous) judge of his people (really all people, but this Psalm is only concerned with those who officially made a covenant with him.
Ok, so why is God doing this? When I was child, sometimes I would be playing in my room, carefree and innocent, when I would hear the one of my parents yell, “Neal, Emily, Jeff & Joe—get in here right now!” That was never, ever a good thing. It always meant that someone had done something wrong. My parents would line up me and my three siblings in a row, and the interrogation began. If no one confessed, we all got punished.
In Psalm 50, God is calling his people into account for breach of contract. As I read the second movement, verses 7-15, see if you can figure out what exactly they have done wrong:
7 “Hear, O my people, and I will speak, O Israel, I will testify against you. I am God, your God. 8 Not for your sacrifices do I rebuke you; your burnt offerings are continually before me. 9 I will not accept a bull from your house or goats from your folds. 10 For every wild animal of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. 11 I know all the birds of the air, and all that moves in the field is mine. 12 “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world and all that is in it is mine. 13 Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats? 14 Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and pay your vows to the Most High. 15 Call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.”
Ok, so what have God’s people done wrong here? If you’re a little confused, don’t worry. God hasn’t really said what the problem is yet, although he’s definitely hinting at it.
When my parents would line up me and my siblings, they wouldn’t always tell us what we had done, at least not right away. They’d let us sweat it out a little. And in those moments, my mind always went first to rules or chores: Did I forget to do ALL of the dishes? Was it report card day? Did I feed the dog? Did someone raid the pantry without permission?
In Ancient Israel, God’s people had a lot of rules and a lot of chores—four books full of them, in fact: Exodus, Leviticus, Deuteronomy, and Numbers, which detail everything from personal hygiene and dietary laws to property ownership and foreign policy.
And underpinning all these rules and chores was the sacrificial system—what kind of offering you had to make to God when you messed up, when you broke the rules or didn’t do your chores.
In my family growing up, there were basically three sacrificial options you could choose from to atone for your crimes:
- You could write a hundred sentences (I will not etch my name into furniture…or my brother’s name). Later that turned into writing a five page essay.
- You could be grounded for a few weeks, depending on the severity of the crime. Grounded from going out with friends, grounded from the telephone (we didn’t have devices back then), or in my specific case, grounded from musical instruments.
- The dreaded spanking—usually with a kitchen spatula, a ping-pong paddle, or a wooden spoon, and always preceded with the line “this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”
In time, we each got really good at one or more of those punishments. My sister, who didn’t go out much and didn’t talk on the phone, would quickly volunteer to be grounded. I was pretty good at writing, and could knock out a hundred sentences in under 30 minutes. My younger brothers always opted for the spanking, just to get the whole thing over with quickly. And at some point, the punishments ceased to have much meaning—it was easier to pay your penance than it was to stay out of trouble in the first place.
I think this is where God is in Psalm 50. “Look, you guys are really good at all the sacrifices—your burnt offerings are continually before me! But I don’t actually need your goats and birds and cattle. It’s not like I eat them or something, and for what it’s worth, I made them. They all belong to me anyhow. What I really want is for you to keep your promises. I want your sincere gratitude when I help you (and I’m always here to help you). I don’t need what you have—I want who you are.”
And then, in the third movement of Psalm 50, we finally get to the crux of God’s problem with his people (verses 16-22):
16 But to the wicked God says, “What right have you to recite my statutes or take my covenant on your lips? 17 For you hate discipline, and you cast my words behind you. 18 You make friends with a thief when you see one, and you keep company with adulterers. 19 You give your mouth free rein for evil, and your tongue frames deceit. 20 You sit and speak against your kin; you slander your own mother’s child. 21 These things you have done, and I have been silent; you thought that I was one just like yourself. But now I rebuke you and lay the charge before you. 22 Mark this, then, you who forget God, or I will tear you apart, and there will be no one to deliver.
Let’s start with that last verse, the one about God tearing you apart. It sounds harsh, but not unlike my mother telling me that if I kept on back talking, that she was going to knock me into next week. I don’t think I was ever actually knocked into next week, but I sure knew she was serious when she said that.
All of the things that God is accusing his people of doing are related to the Ten Commandments…kind of. The things he describes people doing are not “technically” breaking the commandments, but certainly pushing the limits: “Ok, so you didn’t steal anything, but you make friends with thieves. You didn’t commit adultery yourself, but you surround yourself with people who do. You didn’t actually lie, but you are being deceptive. Yes, you may be “honoring” your mother, but then you’re throwing your brother (her child) under the bus!
In other words, you are so meticulous about the rules and the chores and doing just the right amount of penance, but somewhere along the way you are missing the entire point! You’re forgetting what the rules and the chores are for, and who they’re for. They’re not for me; they’re for you, to help you. And you’re forgetting about the relationship we have. That’s what’s really important.
Today, when my mother asks me or my siblings to do something, I like to think that we do it because we love her, because we’re thankful for all that she’s done for us, because we want to please her…and because we’ve learned through the years that she gives good advice. It’s certainly not because I’m afraid of being spanked, or grounded. And if I’m honest, all those sentences and essays probably helped me to be a better sermon writer.
So what’s the difference between then and now? Mostly just age and maturity. Maybe a little bit of loss and sadness, too. Losing one parent makes you appreciate the other one while you still can. And certainly having children of my own, and seeing the relationship from the other side—desperately wanting my children to choose the right and the good for its own sake, not out of fear of punishment or because the rules say so.
I imagine that most of you who are in the vicinity of my age can identify. But let me ask you one really important question before I move on to the closing verse of Psalm 50:
In your faith, in your spirituality, in your church community, in your relationship with God… Are you a mature adult, or are you still a child?
Not sure? Here’s a test: When I say words like “church attendance, bible study, prayer, tithing, evangelism, or loving your enemies” do you feel a sense of guilt? Fear? Shame? Or do you feel a sense of gratitude and opportunity, an excitement to grow and learn and serve and be a part of something bigger, something that is truly eternal?
God cares about all of those things—not because he needs them. But because you need them. God doesn’t need what you have; he wants who you are. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, created to live in Christian community, as a light to the world, and an heir to God’s promise and his covenant.
And just in case you’re wondering what exactly that promise, that covenant is…here it is again in the closing verse of Psalm 50 (verse 23):
23 Those who bring thanksgiving as their sacrifice honor me; to those who go the right way, I will show the salvation of God.”
